


The Fadings

by donutsweeper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Come As You're Not Challenge, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Off-screen Character Death, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The phenomenon known as The Fadings has always baffled scholars. What caused the world's colours to fade randomly? And why did they sometimes come back, only to fade again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fadings

> _  
> The first recorded example of the phenomenon that has become known as The Fadings can be found in the tapestry from which its name has been taken, the renowned Fadings Tapestry of Cologne. The tapestry, actually a combination of embroidered cloth and traditional weft-facing weavings, dates to the mid eleventh century and depicts a great battle, presumed to be the Battle of Camlann. It focuses on the story of one knight, who is believed to be King Arthur himself, who fights his way through the battlefield only to receive a mortal blow and die at the feet of his retinue._
> 
> _It is via the embroidered additions to the cloth that the effects of The Fadings are seen. Threads of increasingly lighter shades emanate outward from the knight's body as if to imply that all that was bright and brilliant about the world was, upon this man's death, no more. The veridicality of such a premise is inherently flawed of course, however as a historical artefact, the significance of the Fadings Tapestry of Cologne is incalculable.  
>  _

* * *

Merlin had always known he and Arthur would never grow old together. His magic saw to that; he had aged normally for a while and then... stopped. Gaius had been able to make no explanation for it, he could only offer the assumption it was a by-product of his magic. "Your magic has always been a part of you, dear boy, from the moment you took your first breath. It is not unexpected that such power would some sort of effect on a body."

Together they had researched it as much as they could but had been unable to come up with a way to normalise his aging. Years passed, the inevitable happened and it hurt like hell because Gaius had been more than just Merlin's mentor and far more than a mere friend, and Merlin was left to look for a solution on his own. 

But failed.

Life, unsurprisingly, continued on. Arthur's lands were slowly growing into the prophecies that Kilgharrah had spoken of back in the dungeon cave under Camelot and magic had, as promised, returned to the land. It had ushered in a truly wonderful and vibrant era and overall Merlin thought he could not be happier with how it all turned out.

It had been nearly thirty years since he had first come to Camelot, yet he had barely aged a quarter of that before seeming to stop aging completely. Arthur had often railed on the unfairness of it; that he, the Once and Future King, was entering his twilight years while Merlin was still a young man. He would only laugh when Merlin's pleaded time and again, "Don't say things like that, Arthur, it makes it sounds as if you've almost no time left." 

"I'm not destined to die in bed of old age, Merlin. We both know that," he'd respond truthfully. Arthur continued to be, as he always had been, a warrior king. Something they argued over endlessly.

"They are my men, Merlin, fighting under my banner. I have to be here, fighting alongside them. How could I expect them to give their lives for their kingdom if I am not willing to do the same?" The days of Merlin being Arthur's servant had passed long ago, but no matter. He was still there, as he always would be, at Arthur's side helping dress him for battle.

"You do not have to fight, Arthur. I understand your need to be on the battlefield, but-"

" _Mer_ lin." Arthur silenced him, pressing his fingers against Merlin's lips. "Merlin, enough. All these years and you still never do as you are told." He smiled as he spoke, his tone kind and genuinely fond, but with that touch of exasperation that Merlin knew so well. 

They only had a moment, ensconced in Arthur's tent as preparations swirled through camp as everyone readied for the ensuing fight, but it was their moment and when Arthur opened his arms Merlin quit fussing over the vambraces and let himself sink into the familiar embrace. 

A call of "My Lord!" drew Arthur's attention outside and he turned to leave.

"Be careful out there," Merlin ordered, the same as he always did.

"I always am," Arthur responded with an easy smile as he left. 

Never one to stay in the safety of the camp himself, Merlin ventured to the edge of the battlefield. There, atop a small hill, he did what he could to turn the tide in Camelot's favour.

Their enemies had magic too, of course, over the past few decades it had become not only accepted in courts around the land, but embraced. Few were willing to fight directly against Merlin though, and none that did lasted very long. But, in the end, he was only one man and could only do so much.

And he had never felt that he could do so little as that day.

Red was everywhere. Red on the standards flying the Pendragon crest. Red on his hands as he tried to heal Arthur's mortal wound. Red capes. Red stains. Red pooling on the ground. Red, red, red.

It was too much. The sky mocked him as the sun set. Brilliant, beautiful colours had no right to exist when his king was dead. 

Arthur was dead.

There, on the field, Merlin pulled Arthur into his arms, and held him tightly. He rocked back and forth, ignoring his tears, ignoring the nonsense he murmured about destinies and coins and pleas to come back and, most importantly, ignoring the magic that rolled off of him in waves, spreading over the field, over the sky, over the _world_ and erasing the red that mocked him, dimming the haughty yellow, dulling the brilliant blues. 

Arthur had been what made his world what it was. Without him, all that was bright and colourful....

Faded.

That day had not been his last in Camelot. It couldn't be. Tradition dictated for Arthur to lie in state at the castle as Uther had and it was not until the vigil ended that Merlin prepared to take Arthur to his final resting place in the Lake of Avalon and had a chance to say his goodbyes.

Seeing him off were the knights of the original round table, proper and true stalwarts of the golden age Arthur had heralded. Merlin couldn't help but think of each as they were when he first met them. Leon had already been a knight for years, but he was young and inexperienced and his views clouded by the opinions dictated by the day. Gwaine, the affable charmer and rogue, the man who was noble but not, and had flittered in and out of their lives, always showing up when he was needed most. Elyan, embroiled unwillingly as a pawn, yet so brave and certain. Percival, so young but so determined with a heart bigger than his size, who had come to their aid in their darkest of days.

One was missing of course, and even after so many years Merlin felt his absence viscerally, Lancelot. Lancelot who had taught him so much about bravery and nobility of the heart, as opposed to of the blood. Lancelot who had known who and what Merlin was before any of the others and had accepted him all the same. Arthur would be joining Lancelot tonight and Merlin knew Freya would watch over them both.

"Must you go?" Elyan asked.

Merlin smiled sadly in response. "I have to." He made a vague, ephemeral gesture. "There are things that need doing. Arthur needs," he began to explain, but he didn't even know where to begin and sighed instead. 

Leon took his indecisiveness as a chance to ask, "Will you come back? When everything is done?" but his tone was flat and slightly broken, he was obviously certain of the answer Merlin was to give.

"Camelot without Arthur? No, I won't be returning to that, I can't. But I'll be leaving Camelot in your capable hands and I know...." he trailed off, his words failing him.

"We won't let you down," Gwaine said quickly and pulled him in for a quick hug. The other knights followed suit and for a moment, a brief moment amidst the backslaps and shoulder squeezes and hair ruffles Merlin felt the emptiness abate and his magic trembled before it resettled like a comfortable cloak around his shoulders, keeping out the coldness of the world.

* * *

>   
>  **"Colours Come and Colours Go"**   
>  From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
> 
> **"Colours Come and Colours Go"** or **"The Colours"** is a [nursery rhyme](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nursery_rhyme) or [playground](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Playground_game) [singing game](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Singing_game). Versions exist in print dating back to the early nineteenth century and can be found in the Oldham Pamphlets Collection at the Education Library of the [University of Bristol](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/University_of_Bristol), however reports suggest versions predate the earliest printing by at least a century and similar songs can be found across Europe and North America. It has a [Roud Folk Song Index](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roud_Folk_Song_Index) number of 2132. Folklorists agree that the song describes the cyclical event known as ["The Fadings".](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fadings)

* * *

Merlin spent a long time wandering aimlessly, no longer sure how he fit in the world. Avoiding people helped; the jaggedness of Arthur's loss less noticeable when he wasn't having to compare others to the memories of the man that had burned so brightly in his life. He felt Arthur's loss viscerally, every moment of every day, it was as if he'd lost a piece of who he was, perhaps the best piece, and he didn't know how to function without it. 

When even his solitary, forlorn existence became too difficult he spent years sleeping. It wasn't until decades had passed that finally, unable to avoid living any longer, Merlin settled in a small hut on the far edge of small village that was still within the Five Kingdoms, but only just, and eventually began to attempt to live his life again.

Living was hard. Dreary. Dull. He tried to make it more interesting by doing everything manually instead of relying on a flick of the hand and the glimmer of magic. They might be simple tasks, but doing them, day in, day out, meant he was living, that he was accomplishing something other than putting one foot in front of the other. He gathered wood from the forest by hand before carrying it back home and chopping it into firewood. After making a broom he swept the floor. When he wanted water for cooking or cleaning he used buckets to haul it up from the creek. He even made an attempt at turning soil for a garden.

It didn't help fill the void, but it didn't hurt either. That alone he considered progress. 

Even with swearing off magic for a little he found he could still be useful to others. He had, after all, learned quite a few medical skills from Gaius back in the day and, completely by accident, he became the physician for the entire valley where he lived.

It started simply enough, with a trip to the miller to lay up some supplies. His coins may have been old, but they would still work as tender and if he wanted to make a real attempt at starting to be someone other than Arthur's Merlin he would need the basics, and those included food.

However his timing coincided with a wheel on the furrier's cart breaking, which toppled its contents into the street startling several horses, one of whom took off and ran straight into a group of children, knocking them down and seemingly trampling one before running out of town. 

The chaos was immediate, people were shouting and running about and there were children crying. It may have been off-putting to some, but Merlin, who had dealt with waking Arthur after many a wine-laden evening, waded directly into the fray without a second thought. "Let me through, please. I may be able to help."

His eyes swept over the children as he spoke, immediately cataloguing the injuries. Scrapes and bruises on two boys, they would easily treated. A toddler with an abrasion on its scalp, that could be worrisome if the brain was affected, but he didn't think that would be the case. One young girl had a long cut along her leg. The wound would need to be watched for infection, but if cared for properly it shouldn't be too much of a concern. He went straight to the most seriously injured, the last girl, who had suffered a bone-deep gouge to the arm from the horse's hooves. 

"I've not my supplies with me," he said as he examined the wound carefully. "I need someone to run back to my home to gather them- the old hut by the creek at the edge of the meadow? Unless someone here could provide some things. I'll need honey, yarrow, thyme, fenugreek, and clean cloths. Oh and boiling water and a place where I can treat them." 

Several townsfolk ran off, hopefully to do his bidding. "Are you a healer?" one asked as another said, almost at the same time, "We've not had anyone with those skills since we lost our physician a few winters ago."

Merlin smiled at the injured girl, looking into her eyes. "I was a physician's apprentice for a number of years. It's been a while, but I'd like to help if I can," he said, wiping away her tears before gently taking her into his arms. "So let's see what we can do, yeah?"

Once he had the proper supplies it was a simple enough injury to treat. The bone had not broken so he only had to deal with encouraging healing and keeping infection at bay, skills Gaius had drummed into him over and over again. As it happened none of the children's injuries were overly complicated, but it still had been several days' work to see that all were on the mend. 

By the end of which, the village had a physician of sorts and Merlin, finally, had a purpose in life and was almost enjoying living again. 

Almost.

Then, late one night, there was a knock on his door. 

"Coming," he shouted, immediately awake and pulling on his tunic as he stumbled to answer it. It didn't matter how deeply asleep he had been, the ability to immediately respond and act had been drummed into him at Camelot, and it was a skill he'd never regretted having mastered.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it and stifled a yawn as he pulled open the door. "How can I-"

His next words died in his throat.

Standing there, impossibly, was Arthur. His Arthur. His Arthur looking for all the world exactly like the young prattish prince he'd first met in the courtyard all those years ago. 

"You, old friend, are a hard man to find," Arthur said, his tone soft and teasing, with the beginnings of a smile on his face.

Merlin had frozen stock still, his brain unable to process what he was seeing. Arthur had died, yet there he was, lounging in the doorway. Alive.

After a few moments of silence between them Arthur spoke again.

"It's me, Merlin. It truly is." He took a tentative step forward, his hand outstretched, but he stopped just short of touching Merlin. "I came into my memories a few years ago and have been looking for you ever since." 

Slowly, equally hesitantly, Merlin reached out and took Arthur's hand in his own. "You're.... here. I. I didn't think. I didn't know...."

Arthur laughed. "Still one for endless babble, aren't you." He pulled Merlin close to him, not into a hug, they remained inches apart. It was an oddly intimate pose despite the lack of contact, with Arthur's gaze scanning him inch by inch, cataloguing every part of him and looking to see what, if anything, had changed in the time they'd been apart.

"You. I. You're," Merlin started to say, his brain stuttering again before finally focusing enough to form proper words. "Come. Come in. There's isn't much here, I'm afraid." Which was true. His small hut was nothing like the castle. He had a simple table, two stools, a cot, his medicinal supplies and not much more. "But..."

"You're here," Arthur countered. "That's all I need."

Then Arthur was _there_. There, with him. He felt fulfilled and content in ways he hadn't in _years_ and, without even being aware of it, Merlin's magic rejoiced, lighting up with bursts of happiness and bubbles of joy and bringing back all the colours that were missing from the world.

* * *

>   
>  __  
> ...The term 'The Fadings' is often considered a misnomer as it is the period between Fadings that is rarer, in both length and frequency, and the argument could be made that instead of focusing on the lessening of colour we should be turning our attention to the rare times of brightening and posit the question as to why the colours return as opposed to why they fade away.  
>    
> 

* * *

The time in between Arthur's reincarnations passed incredibly slowly for Merlin. It didn't help that he never knew how long it would be; sometimes only twenty or thirty years would pass before he would stumble upon Arthur somewhere or vice versa, but it could also be two, three or even four times as long as that. Merlin didn't know if Arthur hadn't been reincarnated during those times, if he simply hadn't remembered who he was, or if they'd just never found one another. It was something they never talked about and the subject had such potential for disastrous outcomes that Merlin was unwilling to broach it.

Through trial and error he realized that his location meant little in respect to where Arthur would be. "I was in Constantinople," Arthur told him the fifth time he'd been reincarnated, before asking if there was anything to eat in the ridiculously small shack that was masquerading as his home this time around. Constantinople, Glastonbury, Salzburg, Paris, Turin, Cardiff... as little as a few days' ride to an epic voyage across the sea. Anywhere and everywhere. 

There was no rhyme or reason to any of it and Merlin hated the resulting uncertainty. Not just for his sake and how he dealt with the horrible periods in between his times with Arthur, but there was the world to think about as well. Or, more specially, what affect Arthur's death had on it.

After Arthur died the second time, the result of a rock slide of all things, Merlin's magic had reacted again and everything had faded, just as it had before. He had been so lost in his own grief he'd not even been aware of it until the next time he'd been in the village and was suddenly confronted with the fact that he had irrevocably altered things for everyone, not just himself.

The same people who had rejoiced in the vibrancy that had spread through the world when Arthur had returned now mourned its passing and it only added to his grief. No longer the empty husk of a man he had been after Arthur's first passing Merlin recognized the affect his magic was having on the land and on the people and tried to fix it.

To no avail.

He could access his magic, despite not having used it in so long. However, he could neither find nor control whatever aspect of it was causing the Fadings, no matter what he tried. He threw himself back into magical study, tracking down tome after tome that might be of help, but none referenced anything remotely similar.

So he searched out other magic practitioners, consulting druids, mages, priestesses and all sorts of sorcerers and sorceresses. It was not always easy as both of his names, Merlin and Emrys, had reached such mythical proportions that other practitioners vacillated between being in such awe with him that they could barely string together a sentence and coming to the conclusion that killing him would give them some sort of warped reputation that would show others how powerful they were.

Merlin found both responses ridiculously annoying, although at least the former was less messy and had at least the possibility of resulting in actual information, even if said information was nearly always completely useless. There simply didn't seem to be a way to fix it. His magic reacted to Arthur; it rejoiced when Arthur was alive and mourned his passing, he was unable to prevent it from doing so.

Arthur, to Merlin's great frustration, didn't seem terribly bothered by it.

"Merlin, stop fussing about it. I'm back so the colours have returned; that's all that matters right now."

"Yes, you're back. Yes, the colours are back. That's all well and good, Arthur, but what about when you die? They'll go away again. You realize it will happen, don't you? It's going to happen and there doesn't seem anything I can do to stop it?"

"I'm aware of that, Merlin," Arthur had grumbled, his tone light and teasing as he cuffed Merlin on the back of his head and muffed up his hair. "The correlation is hard to miss and I'm neither blind nor stupid. Not like certain clotpoles I'm familiar with."

"Hey!" Merlin shoved Arthur's hand away. "I knew you had noticed. Especially after all this time, 'm not stupid. I just," but he trailed off, his attempted explanation floundering and skittering away from him before it had a chance to begin.

"Merlin," Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and manhandled him into sitting down on the room's only chair, "there's nothing you can do, yeah? Your magic's never been one for listening to you."

"Arthur-"

"Let it go, Merlin." Arthur stomped over to the fire, adding some kindling and a log. His face was hidden, but Merlin could see the tightness in his back. 

"No, Arthur, you don't understand. If I could learn to control it-"

"Then what? What would you _be_ controlling? What exactly? You and Gaius were never able to figure out why it made you immortal and we never learned why I keep coming back. Do you really think you'll be able to solve this problem either? And do you really want to?"

Merlin's brow furrowed, he was utterly confused as to why Arthur was having an issue with this. "It affects everybody. Everybody in the entire world, Arthur. Why wouldn't I want to fix it?"

"Did you ever think," Arthur began as he viciously stabbed the fire with a poker. "Did you ever wonder if maybe it's all related? Maybe, just maybe, I only keep getting reincarnated _because_ you're immortal? And maybe the colours fading and returning are all a part of that? What if it is all interconnected, Merlin? What if removing one piece not only ends the game but ruins the entire chess board forever? Do you know that won't happen? Are you willing to risk that it might?"

Merlin licked his lips. He'd not ever considered it like that before. Would Arthur continue to be reborn if Merlin would not be there to greet him? Would the colours return if Merlin were to die? What if Arthur died and stayed dead? Was the endless waiting for Arthur to return worse than knowing with complete certainty of knowing that Arthur was dead and gone and would never be coming back? 

Eventually he shakily replied, "I. I didn't think.... I don't know."

"Maybe your magic is smarter than you give it credit for. Definitely frustrating, which isn't surprising consider how much a part of you it is, but maybe it's clever too." Arthur shrugged, finally turning to face Merlin. The fire cackled merrily behind him and for a moment Merlin was reminded of the many fireside chats they'd had all those lifetimes ago when they were merely a Prince and his servant boy, sleeping rough with no more than a makeshift fire to keep the cold and darkness away.

After they'd sat in silence for some time Arthur spoke again, "I'm not telling you to completely abandon your research- I've definitely no right to order you to do anything- all I'm asking is you consider it from all the pertinent angles. Can you do that? For me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I can do that."

"Good. Now, what do you have to eat in this lovely little hovel of yours?"

* * *

>   
>  Not Lost In The Shades Of Gray
> 
> Art From The Eras Of The Fadings Encroachment
> 
> June 25, 2009- February 21, 2010
> 
> Accompanying catalogue available
> 
> [Galleries 255-232](http://www.metmuseum.org/visit/museum-map?mli=225%2c226%2c227%2c228%2c229%2c230%2c231%2c232)  
>  \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Spanning nearly a millennia and numerous continents, the artworks presented in this exhibition provide what is assumed to be an accurate artist's rendering of life during the specific moment in time when the Fadings phenomenon occurred. Exploring the effects of the event on culture, religion, mythology and politics, many, if not all, facets of life as seen as they undergo the significant change that the Fadings brings about.
> 
> This exhibition features more than eighty paintings as well as ceramics, lacquerware, textiles and manuscripts, drawn from the Metropolitan Museum's permanent collections and supplemented by loans from public and private collections from around the world.

* * *

Merlin kept a key to every place he'd ever owned that had a lock on it. First he'd done it for the novelty of it- the idea that _he_ of all people would actually own property that was valuable enough that it warranted a lock- but it eventually morphed into an odd way of reflecting on the various stages of his life. Originally they were all on a large brass key ring, as time passed they grew in number and soon he had too many to keep carrying around with him all the time so instead he stored them away in an old chest.

The first key was large, clunky and crude. It barely had worked, half the time refusing to turn and, more often than not, unable to catch the locking mechanism properly. As a result he rarely used it, especially since locking that door was practically unnecessary as everyone in the area knew their neighbours and everyone else's business so intimately that a stranger would be spotted long before they could hope to break in and steal something, but knowing he could lock it if he wished? That had meant so much to him. 

He'd spent a lifespan in that house. That's how he measured time, lifespans instead of lifetimes. Disease, war or accidents aside, the average adult had thirty or forty years at their disposal before their age became an issue so, with the help of a bit of magic glamour, that was how long Merlin was able to stay in one place before arousing suspicion. That particular lifespan had been during one of the eras where Arthur had not appeared, but even with his absence, that house had felt almost like a home. 

As always, no matter how much he tried to keep to himself, he hadn't been able stop from being drawn into the lives of those around him when he'd been there. He hadn't been a healer then. He did often frequent medical occupations of one sort or another, but it hadn't been the case that time. There, he had been a wood carver. He'd lost the little dragon Balinor had made him long before, but during his long life he'd picked up the skill, first as a hobby, but then came the time, in that house, that he'd decided to make a living out of it.

Aside from the small wooden toys he continued to make, he built items to order: chests, coffers, wardrobes, tables, chairs, desks, anything and everything actually. Writing desks were his favourite though, he liked the idea of his desk being used as the base from which ideas, correspondences, notes and perhaps even stories might spring. He signed everything he made, a small pencilled sketch of a dragon with one wing unfurled in an unobtrusive place, usually the inside of a drawer; someday, someone might wonder about who would mark their work in such an unusual manner and it made Merlin smile to think of what their reactions might be.

Many of his pieces contained hidden compartments. No one was hiding spell books for fear of persecution anymore. He was pretty sure that, other than himself, there was no one alive that believed in magic anymore, let alone practiced it, but there would always be secrets that needed to be kept and Merlin liked the idea of helping provide a safe place to do that. He found it humorous that years later the secret drawers and the dragon sketches combined to create a bit of an aura around his work and occasionally he'd see one up for auction where the opening price was always ridiculously high.

Arthur bought one once, before he'd come into his memories. Merlin had been an actor in that life and had received a summons to meet personally with a wealthy patron. He hadn't wanted to go, but the troupe was always in need of funds, so he'd steeled himself and gone begging, hat in hand. The butler had shown him to the opulent parlour to wait and it was there that he'd seen it: one of his finer desks, sitting there in a place of honour in the room. 

His fingers had itched to touch it, to feel the smoothness of its finish, to examine the dovetailing and to discover what secrets could be found in its secret drawer. "That is an original Dragonwing," a haughty, and immediately recognisable, voice said from the doorway. "That's not the furniture maker's name of course, that was never recorded but he's been given that moniker because of the dragon mark he left on his pieces. His work is known for its beautiful lines, durability and practical functionality. Not that you typically know anything about practicality, _Mer_ lin."

"Arthur!" Merlin spun around and, upon seeing Arthur's familiar wry grin, smiled wildly himself. "You prat! I was beginning to think I wouldn't see you this lifespan!"

"Nope. I'm like a bad penny, I keep turning up," Arthur walked over and gave Merlin an affectionate, if painful, punch in arm. "The desk is yours, isn't it? I didn't remember anything from before when I bid on it, I just knew I had to have it. There was just something about it," Arthur paused as he ran his hand along the back of the desk's bevelled edge. "Something familiar. Something that felt like home."

 _Home._ He'd said it sheepishly, almost apologetically, but it still warmed Merlin's heart. Wanted. Loved. They never talked of such things, not in so many words, but the feelings had always been there. Merlin's reaction was obvious, his magic blossoming out and unfurling over the world the moment he saw Arthur, ending the Fadings and bringing back colour to the land. 

He loved that moment.

Arthur did too, Merlin could tell. As the babble of voices from outside grew into shouts of joy and jubilation, Arthur laughed and grabbed Merlin by the shoulders. "Come on, old friend," he said, leading Merlin out of the parlour and to the front door, "Let's go see what sort of celebrations there will be this time around. I haven't been to a proper party in far too long."

* * *

> _Probability theory is of little help in predicting the occurrence of the next Fadings and the odds algorithm has proven useless as there is no method for identifying the sequence of previous events within the specific criteria. Data only began to be collected as of the 1867 Event and can only be considered to be truly accurate scientifically as of the 1895 Fadings. As a result, attempting to ascertain when this current era of the Fadings will end and the next period of colours begin can only be considered mere conjecture rather than a logical inference._

* * *

Merlin was tired. No, more than tired; he was worn out, weary and utterly spent. Arthur had died thirty seven years earlier and their time together during that lifespan had been one of their shortest yet, a mere nineteen years. It hadn't been enough, especially since it followed sixty one years of being apart. They had barely gotten used to one another again before it was all ripped away, by a drunk driver of all things.

Arthur had died eighteen times now and each had left Merlin more worse off than the last. He hated how alone he felt and how drab his life was without Arthur in it. He was fed up with the way his magic acted and how it resulted in the Fadings and affected the entire world. He loathed how he had to pick up and start a new life somewhere else and become someone new every forty or fifty years and how it was getting to be that time again. 

He didn't want to do it anymore.

Attempts to talk to Arthur about it that last time had failed, just as it always had whenever he'd tried. He'd broached the issue carefully. Arthur was always prickly about Merlin's magic and altering the status quo. Long ago Merlin had realized that Arthur was scared, that Arthur didn't want to risk the chance of being reincarnated without having Merlin there as a comfortable familiar face to remind him of home. It never seemed to occur to Arthur that there were countless years that Merlin spent alone while waiting for him and Merlin didn't know how to make him understand. 

Thirty, forty, fifty, even seventy years at a shot was different than living day in, day out, century after century for more than fifteen hundred years. Arthur never seemed to understand that and no matter how he tried, Merlin couldn't seem to make him.

Time weighed heavily on Merlin. Everything was constantly changing and he despaired of keeping up. Trousers were more comfortable than breeches but denim jeans less so. Homespun linen could never compare to the softness of cotton and flannel shirts were much better than doublets. The Industrial Revolution had been wondrous, but now technology was transforming at a pace he couldn't hope to match. Automobiles and aeroplanes. Telephones and television. World Wide Web and weapons of mass destruction.

It was too much.

Changing identities involved more than just moving to a new town nowadays. There were documents and paper trails and Google searches and he could only do so much, remember so many things that would need a touch of magical slight of hand to be altered in the proper way. One little forgotten detail could send his house of cards crashing down on him and suddenly he had no more than the clothes on his back and a small parcel of his things with no way to get to the stashes of money and supplies he'd set up during simpler days.

It was a crisp autumn day when he finally cracked, a beautiful Saturday, a normal, ordinary day with nothing remotely special about it. It shouldn't have been any different than any other day. Merlin sat against a tree and watched life play out in front of him; children ran about crunching in the leaves, dogs chased after sticks, lovers walked, hand in hand. Suddenly, he felt inundated by the unfairness of it all. Autumn should be a time of colour, when leaves turned and the trees were suddenly awash with reds and oranges and yellows. 

Nature was supposed to be bright, not faded and bland. But not one of these children had ever experienced that. Not a single one had ever seen colours as they were truly meant to be, how they would be if not for Merlin's magic. If not for _Merlin_.

Promises to Arthur be damned, he thought, enough was enough. Leaning back he looked overhead and focused on a single, pale yellow leaf. "Ágeolwen," he whispered, picturing the colour in his head. _Turn yellow._

It didn't work. 

He tried again.

And again.

It had never worked before and didn't surprise him when it didn't work this time either, but unlike previous attempts, this time he refused to give up. Consequences be damned, he was going to make something show its proper colours. Putting more power behind it he focused on the entire tree, his palm pressed against the rough bark and his head down to hide what he was doing from any prying eyes. He focused all his strength, all his power, all his magic on the tree. "Ágéngehwierfe!" This time it was an order, a command. _Change._

Not only had he not cast more than a simple glamour in longer than he could remember, several centuries most likely, he hadn't truly embraced his magic since Arthur had convinced him to give up searching for an end to the Fadings all those years ago. But he embraced it now and sent everything he had into the spell. 

He fed it his anger, his exhaustion, his ennui. He gave it his power, his strength, his frustration. He forced a spark of life into the tree and committed everything he had for it to take root and grow. 

Time passed, but he had no way to quantify how much. Cold winds nipped at him, blowing him about and stealing his breath way. He didn't stop. He couldn't. He focused on the bark under his fingers, on the smell of the leaves and sounds of nature swirling around him. He could do this, he would to do this. His immortality be damned, Arthur be damned! He was going to stop the Fadings and bring colour back to the world.

His last thought before he blacked out was that he was going to succeed... or die trying.

* * *

* * *

He awoke, unexpectedly, in a bed. Something harsh and plastic tickled his nose almost, but not quite, covering up the unnatural, medicinal smell that surrounded him. Scratchy sheets, hard bed, medicines.... What? Oh. A hospital. He was in hospital. 

Sounds began to filter through the muzziness in his head. Machines beeping. Trolleys trundling about. Footsteps. Tinny announcements. A voice, soft and gentle, murmuring right by his side. A voice, but who? He tried to concentrate, to follow the thread of the words and figure out their meaning.

"-seeing you here like this. I'm sorry, Merlin. I'm sorry for not coming sooner, for not realizing how much my being here meant to you and your magic, for dismissing your concerns and your pain." 

Was that... Arthur?

"I'm sorry for being too weak to admit this before, for being unable to say it when you were awake. But I am sorry. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry I never told you how much I love you. I'm sorry for being the reason you're lying here. I'm sorry. I am so sorry." 

Fingers interwove his and a thumb stroked the back of his hand.

"Please, Merlin. Wake up. Please. Open your eyes. You have to."

Merlin wasn't sure how long it took for him to open his eyes. They were so heavy; he'd thought it was only a minute or two but by the time he'd managed to get them open Arthur had gone silent. It wasn't until he blinked several times, forcing his eyes to focus that he realized why- Arthur had fallen asleep, his head on the bed, pillowed on his arm, his hand still clasping Merlin's.

There was something wrong with the way Arthur looked though. All he could really see was his hair, but it wasn't as bright as it usually was. It wasn't the dull yellow of the typical blond during the Fadings, but it wasn't flaxen colour it should be either, rather it was something in between. 

"Arth'r?" he called out weakly. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Arthur?"

Arthur's head sprang up so quickly it was almost comical.

"Arthur? You all right?"

"Merlin!" Arthur's grin was no less blinding, despite the slight tinge of the Fadings. "You had me worried there, old friend."

"The colours, they're not....not right. Not faded, but not bright either. What happened?"

"What happened is you died, Merlin. You _died_. I don't know what you did, but whatever it was, it was big." Without letting go of Merlin's hand, Arthur scooted his chair closer to the bed. "You forced an Event somehow and ended the Fadings, only it didn't exactly work right. Everyone's in a right state about that. You should hear how the media is reporting on it." Arthur gave Merlin a rueful grin and shook his head. 

"I died?" 

"Yes, you did." Arthur's eyes narrowed and he glared at Merlin.

"Huh. Never done that before." Well, not that he was aware of, anyway. Dying would explain the hospital and the fact he felt like he'd been trampled by horses and then run over by something very, very big.

"And you're not allowed to do that again. Ever."

"Arthur-"

"No, I mean it Merlin. I had to resuscitate you. There I was, walking down the street, happily minding my own business when BAM!" He slammed the bed frame with his free hand, startling Merlin. "It was like someone had slammed me upside the head with a bat and I remembered who I was. Then the air started tingling and all the colours went wonky and... I couldn't breathe. Something was happening to you and I felt it, it was like every fibre of my being was on fire. Everyone was reacting in one way or other, but not as intensely. I could sense the magic, could sense _you_ and there was an urgency there. It was." Arthur shrugged and then cleared his throat, but didn't continue.

The silence was awkward. Merlin shifted on the bed and looked around, taking in all the machinery he was attached to and eventually said, "But you found me, yeah? It all worked out in the end."

"No! I mean, yes, you're alive and on your way to being okay, but when I finally found you. It was so dark, I almost didn't see you there, sitting there under that tree, but when I did. You were ice cold and white as a sheet and, and I couldn't find your pulse so I started CPR. I don't know if it was that it was me or the chest compressions, but by the time the ambulance arrived - thankfully some passer-by called, I certainly hadn't thought to- but when they came your heart was going again. You had to be intubated. And once you finally stabilized you were in a coma. They said it was unlikely that you'd ever regain consciousness, but I guess you have never been one for doing what was expected of you."

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I just, I wanted..." Not really having the words to express why he'd done what he'd done Merlin trailed off and simply settled with a slight shrug as his explanation. 

"I know. Or, rather, I understand." Arthur released Merlin's hand and stood up. "I should never have ordered you to leave it alone all those years ago. Your magic, I don't understand it. I never will, but it is a part of you and for me to dismiss it and what it was doing like that wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry.

"Arthur Pendragon, apologising to me; I never thought I'd live to see the day," Merlin joked.

Arthur glared at him. "You almost didn't. And it took you almost dying for me to realise how wrong I've been. You've always been there for me, Merlin, encouraging me, protecting me, caring for me from practically the first moment we met, and you've continued to do so all these years, every time I come back, but I've never- I haven't been very supportive in response and I am truly sorry for that."

"Arthur-"

"No, let me finish. Merlin, you've been responsible for so much for so long; it's time for me to step up and take some of that weight off your shoulders. I need to do better by you. I _will_ do better by you."

Merlin smiled at Arthur's assertion. He was going to say something witty in reply, but magic flared, giving him pause.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked. "Do you need a doctor? I should have called for one the minute you woke up."

"No. No, Arthur, I'm fine." At Arthur's raised eyebrow Merlin added, "Tired and still pretty weak, but fine. Really."

"Then what's wrong? You got all... twitchy. What happened?"

"My magic, I don't know. It's not right, not normal."

"Your magic has never been normal, Merlin," Arthur said, but his tone was light, teasing with a touch of worry and he quit pacing to sit back down again. 

"Yeah, thanks for that," Merlin snapped back before getting himself under control. "Sorry," he said quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to so abrupt with you like that. I'm glad you're here, Arthur. It's just my magic, it's never been like this before."

"Do you think that's what's causing all this?" Arthur gestured around the room at the muted colours.

"It has to be, doesn't it? Usually it reacts the moment you're back. This time though, it's different. Whatever I did," Merlin trailed off, biting his lip and worrying the blanket under his hand. "Maybe I broke it. What if I broke it, Arthur? What then?"

"If you did, then you did. We'll figure it out, Merlin." Arthur grabbed Merlin's hand, stilling it. "Together, as it should have been since the very beginning."

"Together," Merlin repeated, with a smile.


End file.
